Precious moments

By Mick Westwood Sep 26, 2016

Join Mick Westwood and take a walk down memory lane, back to the innocent times of growing up in the 50s

Precious moments

Frozen to the marrow, right down to the bone,
But we aren’t going in yet, we aren’t going home.
Playing with a bowler, or a sheet of tin,
Playing till your mammy called you, never going in.

Build yourself a trolley, you could go for miles,
Just some wood and pram wheels, nails and string and smiles,
Better than a Rolls Royce, was this thing you’d made,
Oh, the miles we travelled, oh, the games we played.

Roaming in the country, playing in the street,
Little scraggy urchins, with mud upon our feet,
Jumping walking climbing, for miles and miles and miles,
For nothing were we pining, faces wreathed with smiles.

Never had a wristwatch, never needed one,
When your mammy called you, that was time for home,
Time to quash your hunger, with a piece of bread,
Then off – away to dreamland – to rest your weary head.

Dreaming dreams of pleasure, building blocks so deep,
Holding to our treasure of memories there to keep,
Precious golden moments, of all the songs we’d sung,
The ‘Ring ‘O’ Ring ‘O’ Roses’ time, – of when we all were young!

Mick
(Copyright Michael Westwood 2014)

About the author

Mick Westwood

20697 Up Votes

I am a 71 year old retired coal miner, who spent 30 years working underground. Having time on my hands, and in order to keep my brain exercised, I decided to try to write poetry and put down on paper some of my life experience, and my hopes, dreams and other thoughts. I also do a little gardening, but I am hopeless at housework. Much to my wife's displeasure.